


No Hands

by roebling



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frottage porn, inspired by a certain video (yes, that one).</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hands

Brendon is sitting at the kitchen table staring at a half-eaten ham sandwich. Specifically he is staring at the crumbs left from the half of the sandwich he's already eaten. It isn't a very good sandwich. The bread has gone a little stale, and the ham is too salty. He's getting better at keeping groceries in the house, but a lot of the time he still forgets and they just order takeout.

The back door opens. It's Spencer, back from his run. His hair is dark with sweat and the thin cotton of his tee shirt clings damply to his chest. The dark pink of his nipples is just barely visible through the white fabric. The jogging is a pretty new thing; Brendon hasn't asked about it, but he really likes that when Spencer comes in from a run the pale skin of his cheeks and chest is flushed pink. He looks fucking awesome, all spent and satisfied and vivid.

"Hey," Spencer says.

"Hey," says Brendon. "Hot out?"

"Yeah," says Spencer. "Totally fucking miserable."

"Nice," Brendon says.

Spencer gets a glass from the cupboard and fills it at the sink. He lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His back is long, long, long. The line of his spine is tremendous. His skin is uniformly pale and looks very soft, still a little sweat-slick. Brendon stands up and shoves the chair back against the table. It squeaks against the tile. Spencer looks over his shoulder, and smiles. Brendon grins and steps forward. He cages Spencer in against the counter, one arm on each side of his body, not quite pinning him but not giving him anywhere to go. He presses his mouth to the back of Spencer's neck, rubs the sun-warmed skin with his nose.

"Mmm," he says. "You smell good."

Spencer chuckles. Brendon can feel the vibrations through Spencer's skin. "I'm kind of gross right now, dude," he says.

"Nope," Brendon says. "You're tasty." He sloppily licks a swath of skin below Spencer's ear. "Sunscreen. Delicious."

Spencer turns, so he's facing forward. His tee shirt is riding up a little. His belly is white but there are faint pink marks where the elastic waist of his gym shorts bit into the softness that's left. It might be nice to lay Spencer flat on his back and trace his tongue over those pink marks, nip softly at his pale skin. He would probably taste of clean sweat and salt. Brendon all of a sudden really likes the idea of tasting every inch of Spencer's skin.There's a sweet kind of tingling in his low stomach. He wants to grind the heel of his hand into his dick. Spencer takes another sip of water. Careless, a little dribble runs out the side of his mouth, along the line of his jaw, and down his neck. Brendon wants to follow the path of it with his fingers, with his tongue.

Spencer's eyes are halfway closed. He's smiling a kind of secretive smile, just biting his lower lip. His mouth is very pink. He brushes his hair off his face; it's dark and wet. Brendon slides his hands off the counter and onto Spencer's back and pulls him forward into a kiss. Spencer exhales and then kisses back, running his tongue over the inside of Brendon's bottom lip. His arms are slack at his sides. Brendon never thought that Spencer needed to start working out or whatever, but he's glad that Spencer is calm and easier with himself and willing to let things with Brendon play out. It's nothing certain, not yet, but it's really good. Six months ago he would never, ever have thought that he'd be standing in his kitchen making out with Spencer but things change. He's really fucking glad that they have.

"Do you really want to do this now?" Spencer asks. His breath is warm against Brendon's cheek. "I'll be fast in the shower. Five minutes, max."

Brendon snorts. "Yeah right," he says. "You have never in your life taken a shower in under thirty minutes."

"Excuse me," Spencer says, narrowing his eyes. "Personal hygiene is important. I like to take my time."

Brendon waggles his eyebrows. "What are you doing in there that takes so much time?"

Spencer's cheeks get a little red, but he says, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Dude, is that an invitation?"

"Maybe," Spencer says. "Yeah." He swallows and his Adam's apple dips. Spencer's neck is long and white.

Brendon wants to suck on that pale skin until it's ruddy bruised, dark and vivid where everyone can see. He grins, showing all his teeth.

"Okay, I'm gonna go then ..." Spencer pushes forward, forcing Brendon to step backwards away from the counter.

"No, no," Brendon says. "Not now, dude. I want to like ... yeah. Next time, in the shower, totally. Not now."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Okay, weirdo," he says, kind of rushed. "If you don't mind that I'm all gross ..."

"It's hot," Brendon says, all in a rush. "Not gross, dude. Really hot." His dick is half hard now, and he presses forward into Spencer, kisses his collarbone and maybe bites a little through the fabric of his tee shirt. Spencer's hard too, and pushing back against him. "Okay, okay. The kitchen is not the place for sex."

Spencer's eyes crinkle as he laughs silently. Brendon places a hand on his back, right over the damp spot between his shoulder blades, and follows him into the living room. Spencer flops face down onto the couch, sprawling. He turns his head to the side and props his head on his folded forearms. Brendon kneels between his knees, rests a hand on Spencer's pale thigh. His hard dick is uncomfortably pressing against his shorts. He unzips and tugs them down around his knees. There's a wet spot spreading on the front of his boxer-briefs, a tiny spot just slightly darker where the wet head of his cock pushes the fabric taut.

Spencer looks back over his shoulder, impatient. His dark hair falls over one eye. His hips flex, pressing into the soft of the couch.

Brendon draws his thumb up the back of Spencer's thigh, over milk-pale skin and dark hair. "Hold your horses," Brendon says, low. "I would say keep your pants on but that is totally the wrong metaphor ..."

Spencer grins, all perfect white teeth, and then presses his forehead to the couch again. Brendon rubs the palm of his hand over his cock, through his briefs. He closes his eyes at the sharp burr of pleasure, but he tamps it down tight, lets it simmer. Spencer's shirt has ridden up a little. Brendon pushes it all the way up, bunches it under Spencer's armpits. He sits back on his heels and stares. Spencer's back is fucking gorgeous, and Brendon wants his hands on all of it: the flare of his hips and the narrow of his waist below his rib cage and the broad spread of his shoulders. He draws the band of Spencer's shorts halfway down over the curve of his ass. The black fabric is stark against his pale skin. He gently thumbs the very base of Spencer's spine, just above the crack, tracing the shape of his vertebrae. Brendon presses his mouth to the very same spot, barely the ghost of a kiss.

Spencer's hips jerk again. He starts to worm one hand under his belly, but Brendon touches him on the back of his elbow and says, "Wait."

Spencer snorts, frustrated, but his hands are still at his sides again.

Brendon's back is a little tight from bending forward. He kisses up the trough of Spencer's spine, and then licks, wet and sloppy. Spencer stills and then trembles, so Brendon licks again, higher, over the arc of Spencer's shoulder blade. Spencer's hips pump foward, just barely. Brendon bites down on Spencer's shoulder, presses his dick against the crease of Spencer's ass, rubs it back and forth a few times.

Pleasure is deep in the low part of his belly and he's urging Spencer over onto his back The couch is big but there's hardly enough room. Spencer's knee ends up between Brendon's legs, brushing his tight balls. Brendon bites his lip. His thighs shake a little. He didn't turn the AC on and the room is hot. Spencer's skin sticks to the leather. He slides a hand over his stomach, over the sparse line of dark hair, and towards the waist of his shorts.

"Nope," Brendon says. "Not yet, dude."

"Then fucking do something," Spencer hisses.

Brendon pinches Spencer's side, hard, and then reaches down and pulls Spencer's cock out of his shorts. It's really red, darker than Brendon's or any other guy's that Brendon's seen, and bigger than he'd thought it would be before he saw it. It's pretty deliciously obscene, pressed against the soft flat of Spencer's belly. Brendon eases the elastic of his underwear down and over the base of his own dick. He leans forward, finding Spencer's mouth and kissing him messily. Brendon's fingers curl just around Spencer's upper arms. Spencer's arms are slender but he's stronger than he looks.

Brendon knows. They arm wrestle a lot. Spencer always wins.

It's really fucking hot. Spencer's dick and balls are pressed against his, and when Spencer pushes his hips up he slides against Brendon, just a little too dry, just a little rough. Spencer breathes in through his teeth. His hipbones jut under his pale skin. Brendon's thighs cover his. Brendon braces himself on one forearm. They move against each other at a quickening pace. Brendon's dick is wet, precum dribbling down over the head. Still, it's not enough. He leans more heavily over Spencer. They're both pressed together between their hips, rubbing, and it's so fucking hot. The muscles in Brendon's arm are stiff. He grinds down, harder. Spencer's eyes are nearly closed, eyelashes dusting his cheeks. His cheeks are red again, and his hair is sticking to his forehead.

"So fucking hot," Brendon says. "Fucking love the way your cock feels against mine."

Spencer's teeth are clenched but his eyes are bright. He presses up, harder. A drop of sweat rolls down Brendon's forehead and falls onto Spencer's chest. Brendon leans down and kisses that spot. His back muscles are screaming. He rests his head on Spencer's chest. The muscles in Spencer's upper arm flex as he digs his fingers into the leather of the couch. The hair under his armpits is dark and Brendon can smell him, strong and pungent. It should be fucking disgusting, but it makes his dick pulse.

Spencer breathes out hard through his nose and his stomach goes tight, muscles tense under a thin layer of soft and skin. He lifts his head, kisses Brendon's forehead, anywhere he can reach. Brendon grunts, drops all his weight on Spencer, presses them so totally together. The hot flesh between their bodies moves more easily, slick with sweat and precum and Brendon jerks once, and again, and his spine arches and he's coming, slick and hot. Spencer's head rolls back and, god, the line of his neck is obscene, and he is coming too, in wet pulses that Brendon can feel on the oversensitive skin of his stomach, on his softening cock.

They lay still for a few moments. Spencer's chest heaves. Brendon rubs a finger over one of his rosy nipples.

"What was that all about?" Spencer asks, after a few minutes. His voice is deeper than normal, and rough. His mouth rests against Brendon's temple.

Brendon shrugs. "Just really fuckin' love the way you look and smell and everything after you go running." He lifts his head so he can look Spencer in the eye. "Is that too weird for you?"

Spencer smiles. "No, dude. Not too weird. It was hot."

"Good," Brendon says, satisfied.

"I'm pretty ready for that shower now," Spencer says.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Clean. Just say the word."


End file.
